Jan me luver, w'ere did 'e
land yerself to now 'en?. 'e be mis'n of the party if'n the fog do 'ang
low. Surely mornin' dew 'ull untune they strings. If'n ee thinks it be
braeme ezee to tickle they ivories w'th 'er toes, no fear, 'tis 'ard
work,yew.
ANYONE OUT THERE!!!